Little Lies(39)

“Hard to say. We’ll know more soon, but it looks like the fire was confined to the kitchen for the most part. You have roommates?”

“Yeah, two, but they play hockey for the school team, so they’re away until tonight.” He looks to me. “This is gonna be bad. We’re gonna have to call everyone.”

I shake my head. “I’m not calling Quinn’s dad.” Lance Romero scares the crap out of me. He’s a nice guy, but when he gets pissed about something, he’s a lot like my dad. The fuse gets lit, and he goes off. I’ve only seen it a few times, but that is more than enough. “Do you think it’ll be better if we call your mom or your dad first?”

BJ strokes his beard like a magic genie is going to appear and blows out a breath. “Dunno who’s gonna be less volatile. I’d say my mom, but man, I can’t see her being happy to hear the kitchen went up in flames. I really hope it was faulty wiring or something.”

Since there’s nothing we can do but stand around and watch the firefighters do their job, BJ and I head back to my house so I can change and find him something to wear from Maverick’s room. I pull a T-shirt from my brother’s closet, unwilling to look inside his dresser. There’s a distinct possibility I might find things I don’t want to, if the tub of lube and box of condoms decorating his nightstand are any indication.

When I return, BJ is sitting at the kitchen table, his phone in front of him, his hands in his hair. I toss the shirt at him and turn on the Nespresso machine.

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

Neither of us talks while I prepare lattes; mine is coconut milk. I grab a box of Lucky Charms from the cupboard and tuck it under my arm. “We should probably go back out there.”

I don’t know what purpose it will serve, other than to remind us we’re lucky the house was empty and BJ likes to sleep on our recliner.

“Yeah.” He’s still staring at his phone.

“Did you call your parents?” I pop a crunchy marshmallow into my mouth. “You don’t want them to see it on the news first.”

“Shit, you’re right. It’s gonna be everywhere.” He waffles between his mom and dad and finally settles on his dad.

BJ video calls him. When his face pops up, it’s like looking in an aging mirror. BJ has his mom’s dark eyes, and his hair is darker than his dad’s salt and pepper, but they are essentially replicas of each other. Uncle Randy’s grin falls as soon as he sees BJ’s serious expression. “What’s wrong?”

BJ explains what he knows so far—that there was a fire, and it started in the kitchen, but they have it under control now. Uncle Randy throws a million questions at him, so we end up walking back over to the house so his dad can talk to someone in charge.

Of course when the police and firefighters realize it’s the Randy Ballistic, former NHL player, they all lose their cool.

Like my parents, BJ’s live an hour or so away. They bought a piece of property on Lake Geneva a few years ago, and when our dads—along with my uncle Miller—decided to start their own training camp, they moved out there too. It didn’t hurt that some of their former teammates and friends had also moved back to the area.

So of course that means BJ’s parents are coming to assess the damage. Within the hour, I have a call from my mom, telling me they’re coming too, along with the Romeros and the Bowmans.

BJ and I end our respective calls, during which there is no room for argument, and both exhale the same, long, distressed breath. It sucks that we’re the only ones here to deal with this.

“My parents aren’t going to tell Mav before the game,” I report.

BJ yanks on his beard a couple of times. If he keeps doing that, he’s going to start pulling it out. “Yeah, but, like, everyone on the block has seen the spectacle, and for sure people were recording it out there and posting it. Someone’s gonna send something to the guys.”

I bang my head on BJ’s biceps. He’s right. It’s going to get back to them. “I guess it’s better coming from us?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll call my brothers?” River might be at practice, but if he catches wind that BJ’s house caught on fire, he’ll be worried because those two are pretty tight. I make a face like I’ve sucked on a lemon. “You can call Quinn and Kodiak? Or Mav can tell them?”

BJ nods resolutely and pulls up his contact list while I call Mav and tell him what happened.

“Oh shit, Kody’s gonna flip his lid.” Is pretty much all Mav has to say.

After that, I call my twin. I assure him everything is okay and he tells me he’ll be home in a couple of hours.

BJ and I sit on my back deck, where the nosy bastards who are filming and posting on social media can’t see us. There’s now a police barricade at the end of the street to keep people from driving by. Neighbors are throwing porch parties, watching the fire crew clean up. It seems like the worst of it has been taken care of, but the air is sharp with smoke.

“Everything is going to smell like a freaking campfire. Kody is going to lose his mind.” BJ keeps rubbing his beard.

I tip my head back and look up at the sky. “Do you think he’ll have a meltdown?” Kodiak has always been very particular about his things.

“Absolutely.” BJ laces his hands behind his head. “He’s being a fucking idiot.”